The Florist and her Pitiful Patron
by Vi Sign
Summary: It starts with the first time he comes into her family's flower shop. And again, and again, and soon, he's what she would call a regular customer. The same time, the same day of the week, and the same flowers in the bouquet. Least to say, she is curious. Out of pity, out of infatuation, she does not know, and so, she shall find out. Taiora/Alternate Universe
1. Chapter 1

She notices him the first time he comes through her family's flower shop. It would be hard not to, since he has a huge mob of hair atop his head, and, well, the florist doesn't usually have many customers in a day.

She puts the practiced customary smile and greets her first customer of the day.

"Can I help you?"

The man looks relieved and grateful, like most men who step into the shop. Unlike them though, he does not look flustered. He's smiling brightly, though it is mostly out of politeness, since she could see it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm looking for some pink azaleas, feverfews and yellow tulips."

She nods, hiding her astonishment that a guy would ask for flowers that aren't roses. And these aren't flowers that even a normal woman might know. If his orders are so precise…

"It's for a girl, isn't it?" Curiosity gets the better of her, and the question slips out of her lips before she knows it. She kicks herself mentally for asking the obvious, then berates herself again when she might not get the answer her mind wants.

The customer looks distracted, and seems to have been jolted to reality by her sudden question.

"Ah… yeah."

She doesn't pursue, since it is not her right, and the man looks somewhere between uncomfortable and sorrowful. She cuts the flowers cleanly, arranges and ties them neatly, then wraps the bunch into a pretty bouquet.

When she looks up from her finished job, she sees the man fingering his wallet, probably at a picture of the girl who is about to receive the bouquet. She calls to him.

"Sir? Your bouquet's done."

He smiles, and comes forward to pay for it. She thinks it would look nicer if his pretty brown eyes actually smiled, but emotions are a very strong thing. Love can screw, pretty much, anyone up.

He pays up, and she passes the bouquet to him. A thrilling jolt shoots through her arm, as their hands make contact, and she withdraws her hand a little too quickly. Fortunately, the bouquet is already safely in his arms.

"Sorry," he apologizes, even though there is no need for it.

She raises a hand and shakes her head.

"It's all right," she tells him with a smile. "I must have had too much static electricity stored from being in here for a while. Air conditioning tends to do that. I think."

His smile evolves into a grin, and she sees his eyes lights up a little more than a little while ago, when his eyes are nearly devoid of emotion. This time, it is her heart that gives a jolt.

He gestures to the bouquet and waves.

"Thanks for the bouquet…" She sees him squint to read her name tag. "… Takenouchi-san. You've been a great help."

She bows gratefully.

"Thank you for patronizing."

She wonders if she'll ever see him again, as she watches him exit, and chastises herself when she catches herself thinking that way.

_Cue: Pity_

* * *

A/N: This piece is an impulse piece that came out of nowhere, so I'm not sure whether it feels a little rushed. I think it'll be continued, because my head has more stories that seem to continue from here, so, for now, enjoy!

Reviews will be sweet 3


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn't take her long to notice that he always comes to the shop on Saturdays, sometime between 10 and 11 o' clock, and always orders the same bouquet. Well, two weeks after the first encounter, to be exact. By the third, she has the bouquet ready by the time he steps in, rain or shine, to collect it.

The butterflies in her tummy gnaw at her for deliberately shortening the time she would have the man with a bush for a head in the shop, but her level-headedness would fight back, firing reasons that go along the need for professionalism and that he is all but a customer.

_Yes, he is just a customer. Someone she should never try to pursue._

_No, he is your love at first sight. You should seize the chance while you can._

_You can't. It isn't professional of you if you do that._

_Do you want to be disappointed again, like in high school?_

Sora presses her forehead against the flower shop's table-top. It is exhausting and stupid at the same time, arguing with herself, mind versus irrational hormones. She tries her best to empty her mind, cutting the ends of the stalks of the red roses that had come in that morning. Valentine's Day is coming up, and she should be thinking of the increase of sales the day would bring, instead of her own flowering feelings for a certain person.

The attempt fails though, and she places the last stalk of rose she has just cut back into the bunch. Her attention shifts back to the Saturday Bouquet, as she has come to name. She fingers its ribbons, and her thoughts wander to guessing the identity of its recipient.

_Yellow tulips, hopeless love.  
Azalea, take care of yourself.  
Feverfew, you light up my life._

The years of helping out and working at her family's flower shop means she knows all the meanings of the flowers in it, so the meanings of the three types of flowers in the Saturday bouquet swims about in her head like fishes in a bowl; they just stay there.

No matter how she twists the stories in her head, the conclusion always arrives at the man being a jilted one. If the tulips were true, it is an unrequited love, and the azaleas are probably best wishes to the loved woman. The last flowers tell her that the man probably loves the lady a lot, and she doesn't like it when her thoughts stray to the possibility of the recipient being dead, but it's the best explanation she could think up for the weekly order of the Saturday Bouquet. It would have been creepy if he were allowed to continue giving the lady who had rejected his love.

The door bells ring, and in steps the patron, who smiles politely at her and heads straight for her. She stands up, and greets her welcome, scooping the bouquet into her arms. He receives it gratefully, and she feels her insides melt when her brain register the warmth his chocolate brown eyes sends her.

"For Valentine's Day, am I right?" he asks, after a quick glance at the roses.

"Yes," she replies with a nod. "That's when the shop's going to be really full of these flowers."

"You must not like Valentine's Day very much," he comments, after a short pause. Her disdain must be showing, so she quickly forces a smile to her face.

"Not really," she lies, and would have winced at how high her voice suddenly goes. She takes a deep breath and speaks a half-truth. "I just don't like working on Valentine's Day. That's all."

She knows her face is flaming red from the heated flush she feels on her cheeks, and prays he thinks nothing much of it. She intentionally busies herself with the cash register, fumbling with the changes she needs to return to him.

"I don't like Valentine's Day too," he suddenly says, his voice tinged with a melancholy that makes him look more pitiful than before.

She returns his change, and he receives it. They smile at each other and return bows. It is awkward though, and she is sure it is not just her who thinks the smiles are fake and only out of politeness.

"Thank you, as always," she tells him warmly, an attempt to dispel the tension.

He smiles, this time a tad bit brighter, though not as much as she would like. He raises the bouquet and gesture towards her.

"To you too," he replies. "Takenouchi-san."

He turns to head towards the door, and she watches intently at the back of his head, big hair shaking with each stride he makes. Before he exits, he turns with a grin; the warmest look she has ever seen from him.

"See you next week."

She swears her heart skips a hundred beats too many.


	3. Chapter 3

It is a Sunday, and she is waved off from the flower shop by her mother. Between her full-time job as a Physical Education teacher, and part-time studies at night, she still finds time to help out at the family's flower shop as much as she can and is pretty dedicated to it. She sighs; she doesn't even need to guess to know her parents' wish for her to settle down with someone, especially at her age. She has to tell them time and again, to be patient and not interfere with her (lack of) love life.

Well, the free day means a day of long-overdue catching up. She arranges for a lunch date, and heads out. She walks down the now-familiar path towards the little house she has accustomed herself for months, with a large bag in hand. It doesn't take long before she is pressing on the doorbell and waiting patiently for the home owner to let her in.

A crash and yelp is heard, and an eyebrow is raised. A moment later, the door swings open, and a pair of arms engulfs her in a tight hug.

"Sora!"

"Hi Mimi," she greets, and pats her best friend's hair, now back to its original orangey-brown colour. The last time she saw Mimi, it had been black, and to be honest, it was a colour she would rather not see on Mimi again.

Mimi lets go of her, and flashes her one of her brightest smiles. She gestures for her to come in, which she does eagerly. The warmth in the house is way more comforting than the cold winter air outside. She shrugs off her coat, which Mimi takes and hangs on one of the hooks plastered to the walls next to the door. Once her best friend has her hands free, she pushes the paper bag into her arms.

"These are from my mother," she tells her. "Loads of funny food from Okinawa."

"Give her my thanks," Mimi says, taking the paper bag filled with goodies to the kitchen.

She follows, since the kitchen is where the two have their long talks. She makes herself at home at the dining table before Mimi tells her to, and watches as the younger woman places the goodies in one of the cupboards, then takes a pair of gloves from the counter, and removes a small rectangle casserole from the oven.

"This looks amazing, Mimi!" she exclaims in awe, as the dish is placed on a round hot pad in front of her.

"Thank you," Mimi says cheerfully while placing her own plate of baked rice at her own seat. "I wouldn't be a soon-to-be-graduate from a culinary school if my dishes aren't awesome!"

"A designer doesn't have to have awesome designs to graduate," she counters, cringing at the memory of some hideous designs she has seen at college.

They laugh, and venture into a conversation of catching up, such as her job as a Physical Education teacher at a local elementary school, her part-time fashion design course at design school, and Mimi's impending graduation and spring wedding. The wedding naturally takes up the bulk of the conversation.

"Sora! Will you make my bouquet?" Mimi asks, grasping her hands in hers. "I know you're making my evening gown as a wedding present, but I was thinking the bouquet is also an important part of a bride's outfit, and you're my only florist friend, and you make such beautiful bouquets, and—"

"Didn't my mother discussed with your wedding planner about the flower arrangements?" she interrupts, before Mimi could go any longer, which she knew the younger woman has the ability to. She is puzzled with the sudden request, because all the details are with her mother, not her.

"I told them to leave that out. Your mother seems to have caught the reason why." Mimi winks, and she blushes.

"I want you to be the one to make my bouquet because you're my best friend, and you make the most beautiful and meaningful bouquets ever!"

She relents under the power of Mimi's puppy eyes, and the fact that she can't ever refuse the sincerest requests from her best friend.

"How do you know that Izumi's the one?" she asks abruptly, but her curiosity pushes on. "I mean, you're only twenty-four."

"Going on twenty-five, which isn't young, by the way," Mimi chides, but with none of the annoyance she would expect on any other woman. "And didn't Koushiro ask you to call him by his name?"

"It'll take a while to get used to it."

"How do I know he's the one, huh…"

She sees the gentle smile grazes the corner of Mimi's lips, and a blush tinting her cheeks. Such a quiet and serene expression is rarely seen on Mimi, but she notes that the younger girl looks happy.

"It's a lot of things, Sora," Mimi starts, twirling her spoon in the air and staring right at it. "Like how his presence makes me comfortable and nervous at the same time, and how he never ceases to make my heart beat like, like… how the needle goes when the sewing machine is switched on!"

_Trust Mimi to use some strange metaphor…_, she thinks dryly.

"You just know, Sora," Mimi continues dreamily. "Seeing him… being with him… just the thought of him, and it feels like everything changed because of him. Like there are only more good things to come."

"I never thought you'd get together with that sort of guy, much less marry one," she teases, enjoying the sudden blush of embarrassment from Mimi.

"Neither did I! I mean, look at him!" Mimi exclaims, her hands flailing about. "He's such a nerd, and he's always glued to his laptop and solving some complex algorithm in there. And—"

"You used to be a small-time model," she continues for her. It is a comparison she has heard too many times. "And you've never liked math or science."

"Yeah," Mimi agrees with a giggle. "And I would get annoyed with him, and ended up screaming at him more often than not."

"You gotta be grateful that school project helped you score a husband," she comments playfully.

Mimi puffs up her cheeks in a pout.

"Well, he's the cunning schemer who joined the same class because he overheard me expressing my interest in the class."

"Think about it, Mimi. Not many guys would join an elective called 'Social Etiquette and Good Manners'. That must have taken a lot of courage."

"Or none, since he doesn't really care," Mimi says, taking both casseroles to the kitchen sink. "Even then, he's extremely lucky we were paired up."

"And you find out later he's just very shy, and not really ignoring you on purpose," she says, joining Mimi and stands by her side while Mimi washes the dishes.

Mimi laughs. "How could I not like him after he stuttered his way through that confession of his?"

"You liked him before that, Mimi."

The younger woman flicks drops of water, which is thankfully not soapy, at her, and she is forced to wipe specks from her face.

"How was I supposed to hang out with him when I was an image-obsessed and popular teenage girl?" Mimi groans.

"Well, he made things easier for you," she replies thoughtfully. "And etiquette class taught him to dress and talk better, so you don't have to waste your breath telling him how to."

Mimi seems lost in thought, so she turns the faucet off for her.

"Point taken," Mimi says.

She waits for Mimi to dry her hands, and they head back to the dining table. It is when she notices her friend giving her a side-way glance.

"So who is this new guy who has caught your attention, Sora?"

She sighs in defeat. There isn't much she can hide from her best friend, so she tells her about the big hair man. Just the gist of it though, because Mimi has a way of forming her own fantasy.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed. No Taichi this chapter, but I promise he'll be back in the next. Meanwhile, have a bit of Mimi :) Cheers!


End file.
